


Nothing Was on Fire but Fire Was on Everything

by badgerling



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Crusades Era Joe | Yusuf al-Kaysani & Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Dirty Talk, Facial Shaving, Kissing, M/M, Nicky Compares Joe To Fire, Not Beta Read, Period-Typical Racism, Pre-Canon, Pre-Slash, Shaving as foreplay, Speed Run Enemies To Lovers, This Is Just An Excuse For Them To Talk About Feelings, This is not the slow burn you are looking for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-13 15:13:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29030709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badgerling/pseuds/badgerling
Summary: Nicolò doesn't trust the man who killed him over and over again. That doesn't really discourage him, though.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani & Nicky | Nicolo di Genova, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 5
Kudos: 101





	Nothing Was on Fire but Fire Was on Everything

**Author's Note:**

> This is an answer to Tumblr Dialogue Prompts. The prompt was "i feel safe with you. i always have."
> 
> Not mine. Greg Rucka, Leandro Fernandez, Image Comics, and Netflix own them. No infringement intended.

"Are you using my dagger to shave?" Greek, and that makes Nicolò start slightly, glancing over at the rocks on the shore of the small stream, pond, whatever to where the Saracen has sat down. It's the one language they hadn't tried in all of their attempts at communication, but they probably should have. There is still an empire, after all.

Nicolò smiles, just slightly, an acknowledgment. "Do you have a razor in the folds of your torn and bloody armor? Because I don't."

"I would have used it to slit your throat if I had," but there is an answering smile on the Saracen's face as he said it, faint but there, and when Nicolò moves through the water, closer to the shore, to the rocks the man is perched on, he can see that it reached his eyes. He shakes his head, his smile growing into something wider and more genuine, even though it was just over a day since they had first killed each other, just a few hours since they had stopped. Even the sight of the man now, still streaked slightly with blood, it's something that felt, almost, holy. Which was blasphemy. Which seemed perfect, too.

He finds himself staring, eyes raking over the other man's body in a way that is not modest or innocent, and the Saracen's lips part as he watches Nicolò in turn. He has to cough and look away, and he hears the Saracen laugh, like he knew exactly what Nicolò was thinking, exactly why he was staring. 

He shakes his head again, willing those images away, lifting his eyebrows at the Saracen. He didn't say a word as he went back to attempting to shave with the dagger, drawing the blade slowly up his throat, but he wasn't sure if it was knowing the Saracen was there, watching him, or his hands had become unsteady after dying, but he nicked the soft skin under his jaw. He hissed at the sudden, brief flash of pain, and he heard the Saracen sigh even as Nicolò reached his own fingers up to touch the cut.

His finger came away clean, and he was staring down at them as he heard the sounds of clothes dropping to the ground and the noise of the Saracen slipping into the water. Nicolò looked up just as the other man stepped too close, crowding into his space and took the clasped fist that was around the hilt of the dagger.

"Trust me?" the Saracen asked, and not for the first time, probably not for the last either, Nicolò felt his knees going weak at the sound of his voice.

"I feel safe with you. I always have," Nicolò replies and he shrugs, "But I don't know you." He just looks at the Saracen for a moment, and eventually he loosens his grip on the dagger passing it into his hand.

"Always is a very loaded word, mouse," he says as he reaches up, wet fingers touching and turning Nicolò's chin. "It's barely been a day, and I killed you." He lifts his eyebrows as if to punctuate that sentence before he lifts the dagger and picks up shaving where Nicolò stopped.

The sound Nicolò makes is thoughtful. "We killed each other. Many times, and then we stopped." He tilts his head, a considering motion that earns him a nick from the dagger again that makes him hiss in momentary pain as well as an admonishing look from the Saracen. "Well. You stopped. If it had been my choice...," he trails off with a shrug. Nicolò knows that he likely would have kept fighting and dying and killing if not for that hand offered in peace.

The Saracen grips his chin in a steady hand to keep him from turning again. "I was done killing."

"And it turns out, I was done dying."

"Why did you even come here, mouse?"

"Why do you call me that?"

"I don't know your name." The Saracen laughs then, his eyes focusing on the movement of the dagger, and his next words are quiet, distant, and Nicolò isn't sure he's meant to actually hear them. "I could draw your face from memory, and I don't know your name."

"Yes, well," Nicolò starts before he pauses to consider his words. He reaches up to still the Saracen's hand, just to make sure he doesn't get cut again. "I know the sound you make in the back of your throat as you come, and I don't know your name either." He can't meet the Saracen's eyes after saying that, and he can feel heat rising in his cheeks from the embarrassment of it.

The Saracen coughs, not saying anything as he pulls his wrist out of Nicolò's grip. He returns to shaving in the same slow methodical movements as before. "Surely men where you come from often wake up hard in the mornings."

Nicolò smiles quickly, actually letting himself look into the Saracen's eyes. Which is dangerous, and not because of the dagger at his throat, moving across his skin slowly. It's hypnotic and beautiful and breathtaking and Nicolò is absolutely certain that if his heart doesn't start working properly again, he's going to die right there for the tenth or twentieth time.

"That was not encouraged in the seminary, and besides, the noises those men made...." Nicolò finds it hard to continue that line of thought, mostly because it was sending a very nice line of pleasure straight through his body to his dick. Which was making his blush again.

"What about those other men?" the Saracen asks, crowding closer and making it impossible for Nicolò to think.

Nicolò's eyes drift shut, and he can't bear to actually look at the Saracen as he replies, "Those other men's noises did not make me want to take my own cock in hand, did not make me want to...," Nicolò doesn't finish his thought, and that gets the dagger pressed into his skin slightly, not enough to make him bleed, but enough to get his attention, enough to encourage him to continue. He opens his eyes to look at the Saracen. "To make me beg."

"Beg? What for?"

Nicolò shakes his head and shrugs, actually stepping back. Or trying to as the Saracen reaches out and takes his wrist, holding him in place. "For whatever you would give."

"Mmm." That's the only reply that Nicolò gets right away as the Saracen drops his wrist and dips the dagger in the water, washing it clean of blood and hair and soap. He watches the movements, thinking through his next words, choosing them carefully.

"Penance," Nicolò says suddenly, stepping back completely. It wasn't good to stand that close to the Saracen. It wasn't that good to stand so close to something and someone that felt a lot like fire. That close to everything that had ever tempted Nicolò in his life. He finally clears his throat and looks up at him. "You asked why I came? I'm a sinner, you see, an apostate. I turned my back on God, shamed my family, and the Pope said my sins would be forgiven if I fought."

"Are they? Are all your sins forgiven?" He sounds like he's just humoring Nicolò at this point, but Nicolò still laughs, softly. 

"The old ones, maybe." Nicolò moves closer, tilting his head as he studies the Saracen. He doesn't meet his eyes, though, keeping his own carefully averted, staring at the line of freckles on the bridge of his nose, the laugh lines around his eyes, the scar on his temple until even that amount of staring became dangerous. 

If only because the urge to put his mouth on that scar became overwhelming.

"The new ones are a bit more problematic." To say the least. He shakes his head, trying to shake those thoughts away. He turns away, bending forward to dip his head under the water to wash away the soap and hair, and when he straightens, the Saracen has pulled himself out of the water, positioning himself on the rocks again. Stark naked. Mouthwatering. Heart-stopping. Breathtaking.

Nicolò has to look away again, and the Saracen laughs. "You said I make you feel safe. How?"

"We've killed each other. There's not much worse we can do to each other."

"You would be surprised, mouse."

"Nicolò. Nicolò di Genova."

"Of Genoa? Was your family too poor for a real family name or too rich?"

Nicolò rolls his eyes. "My father will likely be named Grand Duke within the year due to the righteous sacrifice of his third son in a Holy War. Many of his fellow soldiers saw him fall under the sword of a godless heathen but not before poor Nicolò took that man down with him." 

That gets a laugh, a deep laugh from the Saracen's belly, and Nicolò feels his stomach clench at the sound. He's right. This is dangerous, but he still moves closer to the Saracen. He's too close now, and he knows it, but the Saracen is perched higher than him, so Nicolò thinks this might actually be fine and okay and maybe his heart won't give out from it.

He holds onto that thought until the Saracen reaches out, pressing his fingers under Nicolò's chin to angle his head up. That one touch sends fire dancing through his body, everything is too warm, and when the Saracen leans down to press a kiss to his mouth, he has to reach up to grab his wrist just to keep from collapsing back into the water.

The kiss is too brief, and when the Saracen pulls back and slides his fingers off of Nicolò's chin, he lets his thumb brush the corner of his mouth. "Yusuf al-Kaysani," is all he says as he stands up, not bothering to cover himself as he says over his shoulder, "We need clothes, mouse." 

"Clothes, food, water, horses, and weapons. Most of that we can find with the dead." Yusuf looks back at him at that, and Nicolò shrugs. "They don't need it anymore. God provides." Yusuf makes a considering sound as he nods, turning back to continue walking back to their campsite. "Does this mean we're staying together?"

"Allah keeps putting you in my way, Nicolò. Who am I to argue with Him?" He stops walking after a moment, though, turning back to look at Nicolò. "Besides, once we are safe in an inn with a real bed and oil, I am going to fuck you until you can't walk." Nicolò blinks, tilting his head at that as he lifts himself out of the water. Yusuf grins at him then. "And when I am spent and boneless, I'm going to beg you to do the same to me."

"I think....I think I was right about you, Yusuf al-Kaysani." Yusuf just looks at him in confusion as Nicolò rises to his feet. He walks toward Yusuf and tries not to flush with the other man's eyes on him. "You are a sin, and I...," he trails off before he grins. "Well. Penance won't be necessary."


End file.
